Unfortunate
by Darago
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short stories featuring Axl Low, everyone's favorite life-loving, sickle-wielding, time-traveling Briton.
1. Destiny

Hello. My name's Darago, and this is (technically) my first published story on this website. I've determined that Axl is an underappreciated character in this wonderful game we call Guilty Gear. Bearing this in mind, I have decided to write a series of drabbles, short stories, and what-have-you focused on everyone's favorite British guy. They may or may not have a sort of rough continuity to them; I'll work that out as I go.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Guilty Gear. All rights to the property belong to Arc System Works, Daisuke Ishiwatari, and _maybe_ SegaSammy, if reports are to be believed.

Without further ado, here's Chapter One of Unfortunate. I hope you enjoy it!

_**Unfortunate**_

_**Chapter One: Destiny**_

Rain. Rain, and lots of it.

A flash of violet in the night, and then there was a man in the rain, resting on his hands and knees. His breathing was heavy.

"…Blast. My clothes are gonna get wet."

Slowly, he righted himself, long hair falling over his shoulders. Numerous pairs of frightened and awed eyes were on him now—it's not every day that a man simply appears in a flash of light. Adjusting his bandana and sleeveless jean jacket and observing his surroundings with a keen eye, Axl Low set out for nowhere in particular.

It was an old Japanese—he assumed from the kimonos and architecture that it was Japanese—city this time, and he had time-slipped to the outskirts. He wandered inward, avoiding the rain by taking cover under the wooden awnings attached to buildings. Candlelight emanated from the other side of the screens covering the doors. Men were laughing, yelling, and fighting; occasionally, a woman could be heard crying out in rapture. It seemed that this was the so-called red-light district.

"You've come after all these years." That was English. Axl stopped in his tracks, wheeling around to find the source of the voice.

There was an old man, squat, mostly balding, standing behind Axl. He wore a maroon kimono that didn't quite cover his legs and a look of wise intention. One hand was holding a screen open; the other was gesturing for Axl to go inside. "What do you mean, I've 'come?'" Axl inquired. "And why do you know English?"

The man simply smiled knowingly. "Please, come in. You are unarmed, and that is bad in Edo. I sell weapons."

"Er…swords were never really my forte, sir." The man made another gesture with his hand.

"I insist."

--

Metal, metal everywhere. Steel and iron, all glimmering and potentially lethal to the touch. Axl observed the shelves of swords, spears, and the like from a safe distance, occasionally venturing forward to examine a particular facet of a weapon more closely.

He sighed tiredly and rubbed his temples with one hand. The elderly shopkeeper had mentioned something about an item in the back room and trudged off, disappearing behind another screen.

"I should really be finding a place to stay for the night—what am I doing here?" Axl wondered aloud. There was a rustling from somewhere behind him.

"It's your destiny, young man." Axl found himself once again wheeling around to face the old man. He held a package that was roughly an arm's length long and a forearm's length wide.

"What—"

"A strange man entrusted me with this package many years ago. He was very, very dark-skinned, with hair not much longer than yours, except it was black. All of his clothes were black as well. There was a bit of an odd magical aura about him," the man recalled. He shuffled his feet around the store's perimeter as he mused, observing his own wares. "He said you would come on this exact day and gave me this to give to you." The man pivoted to face Axl, fixing the Briton with his gaze. "He said that he wouldn't be needing it anymore." The man opened the box; Axl leaned forward, intrigued.

At first glance, the item seemed unimpressive. It was a long rod, black at the ends and middle, crimson in between. Axl raised an eyebrow. "What…what is it, exactly?" he wondered.

"Take it out," the shopkeeper goaded. "It will reveal itself to you, I believe." Axl did as he was told, removing the rod from the case. The man shuffled backward, allowing Axl room to experiment.

Axl gripped it by the end. _Swing._ Nothing happened.

He tried the center. _Swing._ Nothing happened.

He tried adding in vocals. "Yah!" He exclaimed, swinging once again from the end. Nothing happened.

And his next attempt failed. And the next, and the next. "What the hell is this thing supposed to _do, _old man?" Axl spit out. The shopkeeper merely tilted his head and smiled. Axl growled and gripped each red length with one hand, raising his knee to waist-height. "Stupid thing," he remarked, and broke the rod over his leg.

The rod split exactly in half. An iron chain appeared seemingly out of nowhere to connect the two halves; it grew as Axl continued to force the halves down, not yet cognizant of the new development. When it finally did register with him, the chain had already grown to a bit beyond his arm-span. "What the—!" he exclaimed, bringing the mysterious item closer to his flabbergasted face to examine it. Again, seemingly out of nowhere, sickle blades shot out at very ends of the half-rods; one nearly stabbed Axl in the cheek. "Bloody hell!" He shouted, dropping the newly-revealed _kamas_ to the floor. One hit the floor with an audible _clack_; the other fell blade-point-first and lodged itself in the wood. Axl retracted his arms toward his shoulders fast, as though he had just touched something vile. "You never said it would do that!" He blasted at the shopkeeper.

The old man just smiled. "I think the most appropriate term for the weapon is 'a double-ended-_kusarigama,'_" he explained. "Normally, it would have a weight at one end and a sickle at the other, but this weapon is unique in function as well as in form. The black-clothed man demonstrated the weapon to me once before. Here, pick it up," he commanded, walking slowly toward a nearby candle stand. "This time, I will explain to you." Axl reluctantly picked the weapon up, eyeing it warily. "Now throw one end of the weapon at this candle," he instructed.

"But that's _way_ out of range of this thing!" Axl disputed.

"Trust me."

Axl sighed dramatically, but decided to do as instructed. He readied himself, winding his arms back and practically leering at the candle. Taking a deep breath, he flung his front arm forward and released his grip on the sickle.

It was like magic. The sickle reached the end of the length of chain but did not stop; instead, the chain simply extended rapidly, allowing the blade to slice through the candle cleanly. Then it retracted, winding back as fast as it had gone. Axl caught the handle deftly. The chain had simply appeared and disappeared; no excess slack, no evidence of the magic remained. The shopkeeper stomped out the flame, which had dropped to the ground along with the top half of the candle.

Axl was awestruck. "How much for this?" He inquired of the shopkeeper, not looking up from the chain.

"For destiny?" The elderly man put a hand to his chin, pretending to ponder the question. "I suppose I can give you a discount." Axl tentatively raised his head to the man, grinning excitedly for the first time that night.

"I'll take it."

_**End**_

_Kama—_The Japanese word for a sickle.

Well, that was the first chapter. How did you guys like it? Any thoughts, praise, and/or constructive criticism is more than welcome. Thanks for reading. I'll see you at Chapter Two!

--Darago


	2. Luck

Well. I suppose waiting for reviews is a bad idea, huh?

Anyway. I've got a short little drabble for you all this time. Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Guilty Gear or any intellectual properties associated with it…unless a copy of _Guilty Gear XX Accent Core_ counts.

_**Unfortunate**_

_**Chapter Two: Luck**_

Well, _this_ was just dandy.

August 9th, 1945. Hiroshima, Japan. Axl had never been much for history, so the significance of the date hadn't struck him when he'd first heard it.

Now, however, the significance was _very _clear.

A tiny dot of ink on the canvas of the sky—that's all it was. But Axl knew it wasn't, and so did all the swarms of commoners around him. Every last one of them was dashing madly, dashing to their homes, dashing to their families, dashing to their futile hopes of a chance at life.

Axl was suddenly struck with the urgency of the situation. Eyes widened, grip on his weapon tightening, knuckles fading to white. Yet his legs were frozen in place, rooted to the pure earth as certainly as the buildings around them—

But no. They'd be gone soon, torn from the earth like the dust they were.

And so would he.

Breathing erratic. Blood pumping in his ears, throttling the chaotic music dancing around him.

The dot of ink was larger now—no. It was a bomb, _the _bomb, no way around it.

_R__un. Run, run, RUN GODDAMMIT!_

But the roots on his torso wouldn't move. They were roots and they were dust.

And then _it _hit ground, turning the roots to dust and engulfing all and every in its hellfire—

And then the blinding violet blast of light ('Oh, that again,' something in Axl's brain coolly noted)—

And then Axl was lying against a stone wall, safe and not dust just yet. The rush came quite suddenly. Axl was instantly blindingly aware of his wide, death-frozen eyes; his white-knuckle grip on the weapon that had kept him alive so many times; his legs that were suddenly pained from their paralysis; his violently erratic breathing; and the loud _thump, thump_ crashing through his eardrums every split second.

Coherent thought returned. Axl knew that he had been lucky.

_**End**_

I should mention that my writing style gets a little erratic when I'm writing about anything massively violent. It's actually very enjoyable to write; I can only hope it's just as enjoyable to read. What did you all think?


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